The Revolutionary and I
by Robespierre-vs.-Napoleon
Summary: Hortense Lamarque and Enjolras were an interesting couple, to say the least. The revolutionary leader was a formidable appearance in comparison to his free-spirited wife who had a mind for politics and revolution. Together, they worked well and were a good team. If they weren't married and their relationship not so formal, many said, the pair might have even been friends.


**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN 'LES MIS' OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS! ANY AND ALL CHARACTERS BELONG TO THEIR RESPECTIVE OWNERS. I AM MERELY USING THEM FOR ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES AND AM NOT MAKING ANY SORT OF PROFIT OFF OF THIS STORY!**

**Other chapters to follow will be a/lot/ longer. Also, I will not start writing the next chapter until I get one review and willtwot update until I get two!**

* * *

_Farewell, my pleasures past, _

_Welcome, my present pain! _

_I feel my torments so increase_

_That life cannot remain. _

_Cease now, thou passing bell; _

_Rung is my doleful knell; _

_For the sound my death doth tell. _

_Death doth draw nigh; _

_There is no remedy._

* * *

Enjolras walked into the Musain angrily, his face the same shade as his signature coat. In his hand, he clutched a letter that he slammed down on the head table. "Ridiculous! Absolutely ridiculous!" he fumed, slumping down onto a chair. "How can they expect me to do this?" He buried his face in his hands before running them through his golden hair.

The other inhabitants of the café, Les Amis de l'ABC, were all surprised by Enjolras' fury. Of course, he was a great man capable of being terrible, but he had never before shown such anger in front of them. Enjolras was usually a calm and collected individual. Only something very awful or shocking could ever have made him act like this.

"What is it?" Combeferre asked, moving to sit in the chair next to Enjolras. "Est quelque chose de mal?" The golden leader looked up from his hands and made Combeferre start for a moment. His eyes were bloodshot, like he had not slept for a few nights over the issue at hand, or, perhaps, he was working on strategies for the revolution, which he often did nowadays. They could all feel it-revolution was brewing in the streets. It was only a matter of time before the storm.

"Read it," was Enjolras' only reply.

Combeferre picked it up and looked at it over the rim of his spectacles, the rest of their group eagerly waiting to hear what the letter contained. He drew in a sharp breath and let the letter down, patting his leader on the back sympathetically. "It will be alright, Enjolras. You will get through this…..it will not be as bad as you are making it out to be."

Courfeyrac, the third in command, leaned over the table and read it over himself. He sniggered for a second before clearing his throat and taking on a serious look. "You…..you're getting married?" The other men in the small upper room of the café gasped in shock; Grantaire even set his bottle down and swallowed deeply, nearly spitting out the cheap absinthe.

"Yes," Enjolras groaned. "Isn't it awful?"

"What? Enjolras is getting married? To whom?" Joly asked, surprised, picking up the paper himself and reading aloud. "Dear Son: It has come to my attention that you have strayed from your studies for far too long and that you live all alone."

"Go on!" Jean Prouvaire said excitedly, sighing like the hopeless romantic that he was known to be.

Joly glared for a moment before continuing. "Therefore, my son, I have arranged for you a marriage to the daughter of a close associate of mine. She is a good, able-headed, obedient woman who will make you a good wife and, in due course, mother of your children. This letter is very short, but, if you come to dine with your Mother and I tonight, I will give you more details into your impending nuptials, and you will be able to meet your future bride. God Bless, Sebastien Enjolras."

Everybody looked up at Enjolras. "Really, it can't be bad," Combeferre said, trying to find a way to soothe the furious man. "I am sure that you will get along..."

"But that is not the issue!" Enjolras cried, springing up from the table in indignation and banging his fists against the tabletop like he was known to do. "The issue is that my mother and father are forcing me to marry!"

"It has been that way for thousands of years," Courfyerac reminded gently. "Most marriages are arranged that way."

"So? It is a disgrace! They cannot make me marry-I am already married!" Enjolras said.

Jean was confused. "To whom?"

"To Patria!" Enjolras exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air. "I am wed only to the fatherland! I have no desire to be married to a woman-ever!"

"I don't think that you truly have much of a choice," Bossuet cautioned, placing a tentative hand on Enjolras' shoulder before his chair suddenly collapsed beneath him, his notorious unluckiness striking again. After the uproarious laughter had died down, he decided to stand, not wanting to risk falling and getting hurt again. "It seems that your parents are very decided upon this matter."

Enjolras groaned, dropping his head to the table and wincing a bit at the pain of impact. He knew they were right, he just didn't want to admit it.

Across the city, in a large, stately house, a young woman was having a very similar conversation with her father...

* * *

"What?" Hortense Lamarque gasped, pressing a hand to her chest as the warm fire crackled behind her, filling the room with warmth. "Y-you have what?"

"I have arranged a marriage for you with the son of one of my friends," her father, General Jean Maximilian Lamarque, repeated, pouring another cup of steaming hot tea. The curling cloud of steam and soothing scent did nothing to calm his daughter's nerves, despite his hopes. She was just as surprised and shocked as she was when he had first announced the news.

"Father, who is it?" she asked, closing her eyes in an attempt to remain calm. "I think that I should at least know who I am marrying. Have I ever met him?"

"Have you ever met Monsieur Sebastien Enjolras?"

"Yes, I have."

"His son? Have you ever met his son?"

"No. I knew he had a child, but I did not know that he had a son."

"You are marrying his son."

Hortense drew in a sharp breath and sat straight up in her chair. Her heart was pounding hard. _If he's anything like his father, no thanks, _she wanted to say. But it was not necessary. Hortense was sure that her father already knew exactly what she was thinking, and he probably felt the same way. It as evidenced by the pained look in his eyes as he talked about it, or, it might also have been from the fact that she was his only child by his long-dead wife. Hortense had always secretly wondered if her father ever blamed her for her mother's death-her mother had died giving birth to her, and ever since, her father had been grieved over it. She had always felt horrible about it, but knew that her father probably didn't blame her about it. He was too kind, and, besides, he lavished and spoiled her, though she didn't let it go to her head. She was not as stuck up as many other rich young women her age. "How-Father! Why would you do such a thing?"

"Hortense, please," her father pleaded as he set the teapot down and stood up, walking to stand in front of the roaring fireplace. He didn't dare to look at her. "It is hard enough, giving my only daughter in marriage. The Enjolras family is very rich, you will be well-cared for if I die..."

"Stop it, I hate when you talk like that," she muttered, looking down in shame at the yellowish fabric of her skirts that she twisted her hands in, not caring that she was wrinkling it. "I am aware of the Enjolras' status. Nowadays, all of my 'friends' that come to the society parties always talk about them and how rich they are. I will be...glad to marry into the family." Hortense put a forced smile on her face as she joined her father, staring into the flames as if they held some way to get out of this awful situation. She was unable to find any respite in the dancing flames that moved like dancers at the opera.

"Really?" he asked his daughter, turning and looking at her with a weak and weary look on his face that shocked her. He looked older, older than he had looked ever before. She'd never realized that he was deteriorated and stressed to the point that it was beginning to affect his health and appearance. Her father sighed, sitting on one of the lounge chairs in front of the fire, "Hortense, I want you to be happy."

"I will be happy doing what you tell me to, Father," she replied, standing behind him and putting her hands on his shoulders. She was lying, of course-she did not want to marry the son of Sebastien Enjolras. "I only wish that I would not have to marry him without first meeting him."

He smiled at Hortense. "You are in luck. We will be dining with them tonight to discuss it. Wear that nice blue gown."

Hortense bit her lip. "Yes, Father." She bowed out of the room and went to her bedroom and threw herself on the luxurious red sheets, sobbing. Hortense's brown hair and sheets were soaked with her tears, and her blue eyes were red and puffy from crying.

She knew he only wanted the best for her, but she didn't want to admit it.


End file.
